


Through Grace Alone

by spicycronch



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Childhood Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 12:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12888213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicycronch/pseuds/spicycronch
Summary: “She stole my other half.”It's always hard to let go.(Background story for Gods using a homespun module.)





	Through Grace Alone

    _It was easier to forget. That was what she would tell herself, as she covered her citrine eyes with with white gauze. Even in the dark, the Handmaiden's reddish-umber skin radiated a faintly golden light._

 

    The first time Morgan met Ava, she didn't like her. They were opposites in every way.Ava didn't like running, or climbing, or games like hide and seek. She would just sit on the rocks and bury her ivory toes into  the pebbles.

    She had tried to invite Ava into their games, once, but the girl just stared at her. When Morgan asked again, Ava nodded sharply and waddled off, then ran towards the brook that bordered their preschool. Morgan huffed. She covered her eyes with her hands, and loudly counted to ten, then broke into a sprint.

    Ava’s hiding spot was so obvious that Morgan felt bad. The girl was hiding behind a tree, though her wispy locks gave it away. Morgan cleared her throat loudly. She rolled her eyes when the other girl didn’t move, then walked slowly towards the tree.

 

    _It was easier to pretend that such a past didn't exist, that she had always served by the side of Death rather than thinking of the past she had chosen to abandon. Choice was such a funny thing like that. It twisted and writhed and slithered like a serpent to her side, and would stare at her with dead eyes as justifications slowly killed off rational thought. She had no need for choice, not when her beloved would never join the realm of the dead with her._

 

    “Boo!” She yelled with a grin. Ava nearly jumped out of her skin, falling to the ground and dirtying her skirts. Big, fat tears welled up in Ava’s eyes and her lower lip wobbled.

    “Hey, hey! No, don’t cry!” Morgan panicked. She would get in trouble if the teachers found that she’d made Ava cry, especially because it was Ava. Morgan pulled at the other girl’s wrist, trying to get her to stand, but to no avail. Ava seemed determine to sit there and wail. Morgan quickly pulled out a sugar cookie from the folds of her dress, then handed it to the other girl.

    “Don’t cry, I got you a snack, see?” Ava sniffled, then took the treat from Morgan’s palms. Morgan hummed a small tune, pacifying Ava with a smile.

    “Okay…”

    Morgan led Ava back to the playground, blustering as she tried to make up for the scare. Ava didn’t seem too affected, especially with the gift of sugar, but she played along nonetheless.

    “We’re friends now,” Morgan declared, the springy coils of her hair bobbing up and down in the wind. Ava marvelled at Morgan’s confidence, how much bigger she seemed than her five years, and couldn’t help but agree.

 

    _Funny, how fate worked like that. Fortuna had long since passed, though the Handmaiden still visited her on occasion for tea and conversation. She would take off her blindfold then, drink smooth cordials to dull the pain of Seeing, and speak with smooth motions and sharp gestures._

 

    That shaky, young and tender interaction set the tone for their friendship in day to day life. When Ava looked at Morgan, she saw someone strong and unafraid to stand up against other kids or adults even when she was scolded for being aggressive and unladylike. Morgan would often reply that she didn't want to be a lady, she wanted to be a dragon, and to Ava the latter seemed far more likely. If anyone could find a way to fly away from their village, it'd be her.

 

    _It was a blunt language, but better than trying to decipher Fortuna’s lips in the dark. Yet today was one of those days anyway, it seemed. One where the dead goddess was especially upset and preferred to remain willfully obstinate. I cannot blame her, the Handmaiden thought to herself. There is little she can remain proud of in this realm._

 

    Ava had just turned eight when her Consumption turned for the worst. It terrified Morgan to see Ava riddled with fever, sweating and coughing weakly in the dark of the night.

 

    _“I don't know how you can stand being around them. Death- a skeleton! Really, if you'd prefer to serve someone then Hades would be a better choice-”_

    _“They are the same. Regardless of the name, gender, or form Death will always remain a god.” The Handmaiden's voice was still rough and quiet from disuse. The sound went through the air like ripples through water, vibrating in the monochrome world._

    _“Really now, because Hades faded- just like Poseidon and Triton.” Fortuna fixed her eyes on the Handmaiden, examining her appearance. As always, she dressed in her white battle robe that always seemed so impractical. Why bother when it would always be covered in blood?_

 

    Morgan crept down the hallway, freezing in place every time the wood creaked or an owl hooted outside the large windows of her father's home. In the front room, before a set of hallways that held patient rooms, altars were set up for the various gods that ruled their world. Gods of the sun, gods of the moon, the sea goddesses thought to guide souls into the waves, none were as large as the shrine for Death. Death, alone and skeletal, carried a unbloodied scythe. Morgan wondered why the weapon always remained so clean, when she’d seen so many patients in her father’s rooms die in pools of their own pus and dead blood.

In that moment, Death looked so very lonely.

    Morgan shook her head and turned her attention to the other alters. Some held flowers, others strange objects that undoubtedly had to do with prayers. One simply held an assortment of smooth, grey stones. The last, though, had no objects of appeasement.

    Neridia was never appeased. The goddess, if one could call her that, had many names. The Lucid Dreamer. The Dark Lady. Lurker at the Threshold. What she was called did not matter, it was more of an altar driven by fear and a desperation for those who had lost too much.

 

People like Morgan.

 

    _“Hades didn't fade. He was reborn into them-”_

    _“I doubt it. Their soul looks nothing like his.”_

    _“It's still rebirth. Even after you, I, and that damned voice fades Death will remain. Humans will always fear and worship demise, no matter how rare. It would do you well to remember that.”_

    _Unjustified, maybe, but the Handmaiden’s anger nonetheless resonated like the clear tones of a bell she could not hear. There was another reason to forget the past, though the irony was not lost on her. Children's rhymes often featured that part of her history, Deaf Death making an appearance rather than her full title. Though she doubted anyone alive could even remember the name of herself as a mortal, before she ascended to this existence, before she was cursed in an eternal battle that was fated to_ _ne’er be won._

 

    Morgan quickly crept down the hall. She  followed the sounds of misery, of suffering. On the furthest door to the left, she found her friend lying in the dark. Too much dark. Morgan started humming again, trying to call Ava’s frightened whimpers. Morgan froze when the darkness hummed back at her.

 

    _With an abrupt motion, the Handmaiden stood and turned, her braid heavy against her spine._

    _“The eclipse is starting. I'll need to find her.”_

    _“Neridia?”_

    _“Do not say her cursed name in my presence,” The Handmaiden’s voice hushed to a harsh whisper, hissing softly, “Yes. She.”_

    “. _..You never explained why you hate her so much. It can't simply be because the humans said you must.” Fortuna’s eyes softened, pity seeping into her sclera like water babbling into a brook._

 

    There, impossibly large and with a grin too wide was the image from the alter. Neridia’s face was comprised of little more than eyes and a mouth with teeth gleaming in the dark. There were far too many eyes, and such odd angles. It was as if Morgan had melted a wax doll and tried to put all the pieces back together while the soupy liquid still dripped down her fingers. Her skin was a sickly shade of lavender, and her six arms were clasped in front of her chest. It was like a mockery of a prayer to a more loving and benign goddess. There was no clear indication of where clothes begin and skin ended, only the dark shades of purple seeing into her brain. Her hair seemed to move on its own accord. Strands reached up, as if the inky tendrils were trying to grasp the stars and pull them into her gaping maw. That smile…!

 

    _The Handmaiden’s arms prickled as goosebumps spread like dandelion seeds from an autumn breeze. She pulled her blindfold from the folds of her dress and tied it around her eyes._

 

    Neridia paid Morgan no mind. She simply reappeared by Ava’s bedside, gently pulled the girl into a sitting position, and _reached._

 

    _“She stole my other half.”_

 

    When Morgan woke up again, Ava was gone. The shell left behind was not Ava. Ava had been taken, kidnapped, **consumed.**

  


_The eclipse darkened the world_.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Without a doubt, being a DM is one of the hardest and most rewarding things to be in a group that tends towards the overdramatic. This was one of the more challenging aspects of world building, and the most tempting to just copy and paste from 5e. Yet a world is so much richer when even your gods don't fit perfectly into an alignment chart.


End file.
